


Sartorial

by thefudge



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Belligerent Dynamic, F/M, Shuri is 18, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, shuri's fashion choices drive him mad, the grump and miss sunshine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-31 23:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: The ten outfits Shuri wears in M'Baku's presence. Post-movie.





	Sartorial

**Author's Note:**

> yes, folks, this is the structure of the story. I made a story out of this, haha. Hope you enjoy!

_Outfit #1_

She’s wearing a pair of fashionable ripped jeans and a Hard Rock Café T-Shirt. Her hair is piled on top of her head and her hoop earrings are large enough that he could fit his fist through them. She’s wearing loud purple nail polish, and she makes sure she flashes her hands each time she points at the screen.

The great M’Baku is terribly aggrieved by the display. If his jaw were clenched any tighter, he would bite clean through his own teeth. He’s suffering enough indignities by having to stand in the middle of her sanitized laboratory. She is sole mistress of this glass cage. _He_ sticks out like a sore thumb in his furs and boiled leather.

Shuri cannot deny it’s terribly entertaining to watch him squirm.

“I designed the new transits especially so they wouldn’t interfere with your way of life.”

He grunts and notices the way her eyes linger on his tunic.

“A little gratitude wouldn’t hurt,” she demands with a little salt in her voice. The Princess is well within her rights. She is exacting her small revenge.

“How …considerate of you,” he drawls, each word a humiliating reminder of why he is here. During his short reign, Killmonger managed to destroy a sizable part of the Jabari outposts and connecting bridges. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, the King insisted that his tribe should be rewarded for their help in the battle for the throne.

And a king’s gift cannot be denied.

But it tastes bitter on his tongue, since it comes in the shape of her. The malcontent girl who never shows respect for her elders, who scoffs at everything he says. He has to force himself not to stare at the bare knees poking through her jeans.

Disgraceful.

“Do you want to know the name of the operation?” she asks with an impish smile.

“If you must tell me.”

“Gradual Renovation & Underground Mobility Prospect. GRUMP for short.”

His torso expands with a sharp intake. He must exercise restraint.

Shuri grins. “Get it? Because you’re…ah, nevermind.”

 

 

_Outfit #2_

She is wearing dark lipstick, darker than the color of the Heart-Shaped Herb. It’s a stark contrast with the snow around her. She removes one ear bud and he catches wisps of the loud techno music, the awful noise she listens to.

Her red parka dwarfs her, makes her look like an open wound.

The city of Hanuman is carved in the flesh of the mountain and she stomps on the raised platform above it, a careless invader.  She moves her hips slowly to the rhythm of her cacophony. Her red boots slide on ice and she giggles, even though she could fall to her death.

But she won’t. She has mastered gravity too. At least, his guards won’t allow her to slip.

She doesn’t notice him staring from the Great Hall.

She is already rebuilding everything in her head, changing his beloved home. Even though she said she wouldn't. 

 

 

_Outfit #3_

He must learn to tolerate vibranium in the blade of axes, the skeletons of bridges. The King’s gift cannot be refused.

But he will not tolerate it in simple clothing.

She has put several vibranium dresses on display for the Jabari women. She is inviting them to try them on. Her gall is unsurpassed.

To him, the dresses look drab and lifeless. Grey confections, no better than potato sacks. He forbids his subjects from inhabiting this deceitful membrane, this paltry skin.

Shuri heaves a great big sigh.

“They keep just as warm as your heavy furs. And they allow more movement. Here, let me show you.”

She goes behind the partition and slips out of her day clothes, throwing each item over the screen.

The great M’Baku shifts in his seat uncomfortably and clenches the scepter in his right hand. How much longer will she disrespect him?

Shuri comes out in a floor-length dress which wraps around her figure like a glove. The purple-blue sparks of vibranium dance across her thighs. She twirls once for him. Then she tells the guards to open the doors wide to let the frozen air in.

She will show him she won’t shiver.

M’Baku grits his teeth. He rises from his throne.

“That won’t do. Let’s see how you do against _true_ cold.”

And he tells the guards to prepare the sled. He can tell she has never ridden in one before. There’s adventure in her eyes.

A pack of large, well-trained dogs drags the sled through the snow, turning it into fine powder.

She marvels at the beautiful animals, their thick manes, their strong flanks.

M’Baku offers a rug for her legs, but she refuses, bent on proving to him the worth of the dress, even though she’s starting to shiver.

The dogs pull the sled up a winding path, closer to the deep frost. Plumes of steam fall from her mouth and nostrils.

He stops the sled at the bottom of a hill.

Shuri jumps down. She breathes the ice into her lungs. She pivots on the spot, feeling the blood pounding in her ears. The snow reaches her knees. She forges her own path through the frozen water.

“Touch me, see how warm I am!” she challenges him.

M’Baku steps forward and places the thickness of his palm against the hollow of her throat.

Indeed, she is warm and her heart beats very fast.

Shuri stares up at him with feverish determination. Her pulse as wild as a hummingbird's.

 

 

_Outfit #4_

She is swaddled in blankets. Her feet are wrapped in thick stockings. She’s even wearing mittens. She blows on the hot mug, her nose red and wet.

He laughs when he sees her like this, and Shuri has a mind to throw the hot brew in his face.

She is a darling spoiled brat.

 

 

_Outfit #5_

A compromise. She wears her pencil skirts and halter tops, but she often slips on the Jabari furs too. They are too large for her frame and they fall off her like petals. The guards must collect them in her wake. But they smell like incense and pine and she likes to rub her nose against them.

He finds her one evening in the makeshift lab she erected in his palace. She is stretched across the furs like a true panther. She lies on her stomach, legs in the air. She’s typing a mile a minute, adjusting the scale of a blueprint on the screen of her laptop.

He doesn’t like the sight of her, so congruent with his world. Like she could belong here. Well, no Jabari woman would throw her legs in the air like that. In fact - but no, she is _no_ Jabari woman. 

He catches her rubbing her nose against the furs.

He chokes on his own breath. She becomes aware of his presence and turns around, hair flicking like claws.

“Your Highness,” she mutters.

“It is late. You should go to bed.”

“Clever minds never sleep,” she replies with a small smirk.

Two hours later, she has fallen asleep on the furs.

He thinks of picking her up and carrying her to her room, but that would be unseemly.

She has only been here a month; he does not like her well enough for such familiarity. He waits for the moment when the aircraft will take her back to the capital, when he can have his peace back.

He tucks a blanket over her, gently pries the laptop from her paws. Wonders if her spirit is contagious. 

 

 

 

_Outfit #6_

She wears a dyed woolen dress in celebration for the opening of the new vibranium bridge. It connects the temple with the markets in the city below. There’s greater traffic in Hanuman than ever before. He doesn’t like it.

He doesn't like the dress either. It reminds him of the garment his promised wore before she died in battle.  It was the color of blueberries and it had the same trimming around the shoulders. It cannot be the same dress, for she was buried with it. But still. He wonders if she dug out this piece of history and was insolent enough to wear it for his displeasure. No…how could she know? It must be an unfortunate accident.

This is what the Princess represents. A strange, unsettling consonance. A ghost of something he never craved.

 

 

_Outfit #7_

Her bracelets jangle against her wrist as she picks up the fish bone. She has made a mess of her trout, but she has managed to extract the important piece.

M’Baku nods. “Make a wish, Princess.”

Shuri closes her eyes and tugs gently.

“You must do better than that. Harder,” he instructs. He holds the other end of the tail, his grip like steel.

Shuri knits her eyebrows and yanks with all her strength. Their knuckles graze.

When she opens her eyes, she hopes she’ll have the bigger piece, which means her wish will come true.

She is disappointed. She is no match for the Great Gorilla. Her piece is a negligible morsel. He’s got the whole tail in his palm.

Shuri wrinkles her nose. “As your guest, you should have let me won.”

“Is that how you treat guests in Birnin Zana? No wonder." 

"It's called common courtesy," she informs him archly. 

M'Baku stares at the psychedelic picture on her hoodie.  He doesn't know who the _Red Hot Chili Pepper_ s are, but he doubts they know anything about courtesy. 

"Common trickery, more like. I do not _lie_ to my guests."

“Hmph. What did you wish for, then?” she asks with slanted eyes, jangling her bracelets.

“For you to quiet those trinkets,” he mutters, hooking a finger inside their sphere.

Shuri bites her lip to prevent a smile. She knows he must have wished for something else.

 

 

_Outfit #8_

_I’ll tell him this will be a sanctuary. My crew won’t come down here. We won’t touch anything._

Some things should be left unspoiled. It would be a pity to change anything this beautiful. The hot springs remind her of the underground gardens of the Heart-Shaped Herb. This is what T’Challa must feel when he is submerged in the red sands. Except she is embalmed in hot steam. Shuri pulls the cordon of her robe and lets it fall on the stony step behind her.

She sinks one foot into the water and sighs with pleasure.

She is wearing her black bathing suit - a rather modest one-piece. She doesn’t really agree with bikinis. She is a firm believer in mobility and ease of movement. If you must always worry about your breasts and butt, what have you accomplished?

Even so, her disrobed figure undoes him.

It is not her fault. She took a wrong turn in the passage and did not realize this pool is reserved for his personal use.

So when he descends for his nightly ablutions and finds this siren in his domain, he is helpless and utterly stupefied.

He cannot take his eyes off her, the fullness of each limb, the grace of her innocence, and the weight of what is not so innocent.

She dives into the water, cleaving it in half. She stretches her arms and legs wide. She lets him think of the gaps.

She swims across the pool, reaching for him, but not seeing him. She turns on her back. The valleys of her body leave him breathless and ashamed.

 

 

_Outfit #8 and ½_

He finds her sleeping on the floor of the lab again. Lying with her stomach on his furs. Except she is stark naked.

There is nothing, no barrier between her and the scratchy pelt.

She arches her back like a cat, a true panther. She is about to turn on her back. She must be swimming in her dreams.

He presses a palm against her naked spine, keeping her still, afraid of what he might see, of what he might do.

She rubs herself against the furs and utters his name only once, dulcet tones of yearning.

M’Baku wakes with a jolt. His throat is parched. He untangles the sheets around him. He needs her gone. He needs – to be gone from her.

 

 

_Outfit #9_

They ride in the train together. She insisted that he must brave the contraption on his own if he wants his people to do the same.

He sneered at her words, but now sits quietly, staring at the snowy landscape with something like grief. It is true that life is easier in Hanuman now, but it is also harder. Something has been lost forever. Not innocence. But a sense of timeless wonder.

Shuri fiddles with the zipper of her jumpsuit. It has become stuck in one of her locs.

M’Baku places a quieting hand on her shoulder.

“Stand still, girl.”

He tugs on the zipper but it remains firmly stuck.

“I have a name, you know,” she remarks.

His breath falls on the back of her neck. He tugs on her hair now, trying to pull it out of the metal teeth. It’s an uphill battle. Everything about her is.

“I know you do,” he replies.

“Say it, then. Humor me.”

All he’s done so far is humor her. He yanks hard, making her gasp. The zipper is loosened.

“Shuri,” he says stiffly, pulling the zipper up, trying to ignore that he now knows the color of her undergarments. This is more troubling than seeing her naked in his dream, but he doesn’t know why.

He feels he is handling a daughter, an heiress, a mistress, a siren. She will slip away.

She turns to him with a sad smile. “I must admit, the sled was more adventurous. Do the dogs miss me?”

He smiles back at that. She is not just saying it to comfort him.

They ride the train in silence, the sole passengers of the cabin. Two very different creatures that find each other terrifying and amusing.

He could encircle her neck with just one hand and he could drag her mouth to his and he could hurt her by making it last. Or perhaps she would kiss him back and he would burn.

They don’t do anything, they lie in wait. The white landscape mocks them with all its unexplored life. 

 

 

_Outfit #10_

The banquet in Birnin Zana is to be a lavish affair. The Princess has returned after a successful partnership with the Jabari tribe. She has brought civilization to savages, the bad mouths say.

What they do not say or know is that she intends to return in three months’ time to see if her work has flourished. Not even T’Challa knows of this plan. Not yet.

“Shuri, you’re expected downstairs. Mind that you’re already late,” Nakia tells her as she passes by her room.

Shuri stands in front of the mirror, undecided. She doesn’t want to wear anything. No dress comes up to her expectations.

She wants to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling until she comes up with a new use for herself.

She slips on her Hard Rock Café T-Shirt instead. She takes out her tablet and snaps a picture.

She sends it to Hanuman via the new, highly advanced satellite.

Her image is projected directly into his chambers. He raises his head from his study and his hands still on the carving knife.

The photo comes attached with a message.

_C u in 3 months, g.r.u.m.p!_

He rubs his forehead, digs his thumbs into his temples. He tries to summon the sound reasoning of his ancestors and banish any flighty emotions. But he cannot help the broad smile which tugs at his lips.

His princess shall return soon.

After all, a king’s gift cannot be denied.


End file.
